


Goodbye to a World

by hktk



Category: Kamen Rider OOO
Genre: Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Series, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hktk/pseuds/hktk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For awhile, Ankh could forget he wasn't human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye to a World

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for: Main series, Megamax, and I suppose the novel? 
> 
> The method Eiji used to repair the two medals is based on kintsugi.

He had a dream.

It was different than the first dream he ever had. Lying on a cold slab, he couldn’t move, but something—or someone—was moving _him_. What felt like arms wrapped around him, and they shook him, and for a very long time, that’s all he could feel. That’s all he could sense.

Eventually, his other senses started to fill in.

Smell came next, and really, the only notable scent was the scent of saltwater. It hit his nostrils, tickling the inside.

Taste, then. His mouth tasted of iron, of blood, of … something else, something like raw meat, that he couldn’t quite get rid of, no matter how much he tried. It tasted disgusting.

He could hear, then, slowly but surely. Sounds at first appeared distant, but as time went on, everything became actually quite close. Someone, a man, it seemed, yelled in his ear, and it sounded like he was crying. He couldn’t comprehend what the man said, however. It just sounded like a bunch of gibberish to him. But, he thought, he liked the familiar voice and wanted to remove the worry laden throughout it.

And, of course, sight came last. Finally, he could crack open his eyes. Bright lights immediately assaulted his retinas, and he shut them again. He couldn’t do this. But, a desire deep within him stirred, instructing him to open his eyes so he could see what he had yearned to see for what felt like hundreds of years.

A man—the same man both calling his name and holding him tight with both of his arms, incidentally—pressed his face into the Greeed’s chest. Wetness—his sense of touch was near complete now, still warming up—fell onto the feathers, down onto his skin below the roughness of it. Instinctively, he embraced the man. He shifted forms, into a human form, a form stolen off of the man he had possessed for so long, that just felt... right. At this point, it felt more natural than his actual natural body.

At the sudden change, the man looked up. With a sort of start, Ankh realized he could see the man in complete clarity—unlike anything he had ever seen before. It shouldn’t have been possible, but … The bright and puffy eyes, slick with tears, and a smile that screamed love all seemed _right_ , and he was glad to finally have seen both the face and the smile again.

(His first words were, “You useless idiot,” through the tears he tried to choke back.)

  


They had moved. Or, well, Eiji had moved, a long time ago, out of the attic of Cous Coussier and into his own apartment in the city, close to the Kougami Foundation’s main building where he could be reached at any time, if he was home. Ankh had found out that Eiji rarely stayed home, always traveling the world, learning about new places and people and technology and traditions—all to bring Ankh back.

That’s what Eiji had said.

Eiji also said that it had been years—twelve years, three months, eleven days, to be exact (Eiji counted)—since they had last seen one another. Eiji certainly looked different, though Ankh hadn’t aged at all (Eiji would say that his feathers had gotten softer, though Ankh wouldn’t know why he would know, seeing as Eiji had never touched him in his Greeed form—the form he didn’t like being in, anyway, so it was a rare sentiment). Ankh did realize that it had felt like forever while... being _dead_. It was different from being sealed; although he could sense Eiji and be near him, he mostly slept, and it felt like five years for every human one. He was glad he could stretch his wings, now, too—metaphorically and literally.

Their apartment, situated about halfway up the building, overlooked quite a large part of the city. Eiji had made sure there was a balcony for Ankh to climb onto when he was feeling particularly bird-like (“But you bought this years ago.” “Yeah.”). Although there were only a few windows, with the glass doors leading out onto the balcony, Ankh drank the sight in every day, and Eiji would leave him alone, occasionally sitting down with him and watching the sights, too.

Everything—from the birds flying high above to the people and cars far below—could be seen in crystal clarity, like that dream from so long ago that he still yearned for.

These days, that dream was the only thing he _could_ yearn for. He had everything he wanted now—Eiji and all nine medals. Ankh felt fulfilled, full, content, and, every time he looked at the way Eiji smiled with his dimples or every time Eiji scolded him for not eating correctly or even just hugged him from behind and didn’t want to let go, happy.

Ankh, the being made of pure desire, no longer felt desirous.

(For awhile, Ankh could forget he wasn’t human.)

  


Eiji always seemed nervous.

It wasn’t his usual nervousness or anxiety that Ankh had come to memorize in the year that he had spent with him, either. It was a whole new one. Whenever Eiji answered the phone or the door, or even told Ankh he was going out grocery shopping, his hand went to his pocket, as if fumbling around for something inside of it. For weeks, Ankh let it go, but Eiji always looked distressed when he pulled his empty hand out.

One day, Ankh couldn’t stand it any longer. The next time the phone rang, and Eiji slipped his hand into his pocket, Ankh shot his hand out, gripping onto his wrist. Ankh also slipped his hand into the pocket, with Eiji’s, and searched around for what could be in there. His search came up empty, however, and they both pulled their hands out. Eiji looked down and away, scratching at his face, embarrassed.

“Why do you do that?” Ankh demanded, crossing his arms over his chest loosely.

Eiji still didn’t look at him. “Do what?”

“Idiot. You know. Put your hand in your pocket whenever you have to do something. Always looking miserable when you come up empty.”

There was a long pause, and Eiji looked a little like a child who had just gotten stolen. “When... you were gone,” he started, very quietly, “I always kept you in my pocket, and... When the... attacks...” He looked up at Ankh. “With that, I could do anything. But now...”

Had the panic attacks gotten worse upon his departure? _Stupid Eiji. You were supposed to lean on others,_ he thought. _I couldn’t do anything as a broken medal._

Eiji, now, though, looked on the verge of one. With a sigh, Ankh made his right arm appear and pulled one of his own medals from himself. He grunted at the force, which prompted Eiji to finally look up at him.

“Ankh?”

“Here,” the Greeed said gruffly, grabbing one of Eiji’s hands and forcing the medal into Eiji’s hand, closing his fingers around it. “Don’t break this one.”

(Ankh could swear he could feel every single time Eiji clutched the medal.)

  


Ankh had repeatedly questioned Eiji on how he not only fixed his main core, but also the other cores that had been lost in battle, in one way or another. Eiji just looked down each time, shook his head a little, and said, “What’s important is that you’re here now.”

Ankh, at first, scoffed at the idea of him keeping it a secret. Perhaps he just wants to keep an air of mystery, he would think. Perhaps it really doesn’t matter. But a nagging feeling always reared its ugly head every time he opened up an ice pop, and he’d get so frustrated that he couldn’t even eat. The ill feeling only grew worse when he saw Eiji outside of the apartment building one day, in the parking lot, burning what looked to be a lot of journals. Ankh pretended he didn’t see, and he wasn’t stupid as to what the contents of those journals could have been.

Years passed, and still, Eiji would not relent.

Eventually, Ankh tracked down Gotou, and Date, and even Satonaka, and they all said the same thing:

“Eiji said not to tell.”

Kougami, getting older in age yet still always working on how to bring back new and improved core medals, was the first to actively seek out Ankh to tell him of the true origins. He invited Ankh down into the Foundation’s safe, in the very, very bottom floor, and he shuddered upon entering. He could feel _his_ breath breathing down his neck, even just by opening the door.

“Ankh, happy birthday!” greeted Kougami, pulling a party popper.

Ankh watched the streamers float gently to the ground disinterestedly. He said nothing, so Kougami continued, raising a glass to him.

“Eiji Hino gave his life for you.”

The words hit Ankh like a brick covered in nails. His eyes widened, and he tilted his head a little closer. Still, he said nothing.

“You have part of his soul inside of you, Ankh,” the president explained. “He infused it with pieces of your core medal he had found. A long, _splendid_! process that included fusing his desire for you, his love,” (Ankh’s breath hitched), “for you with your own desire to live again.” He poured wine into the glass, and Ankh truly felt the King’s presence. “His soul, stitched with gold, is what holds you together.”

Ankh felt... angry, betrayed, and hurt. He only wanted to live again because Eiji had desperately wanted him to live again—dying was wonderful, and he was glad that Eiji had a desire of his own and would have been content to just living out the rest of his days until the medal deteriorated completely in Eiji’s pocket, and yet, he still yearned for that dream. That dream to fly, again, as the King of the Birds, with flocks and flocks behind him of birds that respected and adored him. He had been, at the time, unaware that this latent desire would have led to this conclusion.

“So, Eiji...” Ankh’s voice cracked, and he clutched at his chest, looking down in fright, truly feeling the gold laced through his main core, “... will die?”

Ankh left the safe after another hour of talking, shaking, trembling down to his core. He no longer wanted to see the Earth in perfect clarity, if it meant giving Eiji up. He no longer wanted that dream back, if it meant Eiji would no longer dream.

(Eiji laughed when Ankh asked if he could sleep with him as an arm, for old time’s sake. Situated perfectly in the warmth of Eiji’s neck, feeling his pulse beneath his skin and through the scales of his arm, Ankh felt safe.)

  


“Hey, Ankh,” came the quiet voice in his ear. “Do you remember when we first met?”

Six years had passed since Ankh’s supposed resurrection, and not much had changed between them. Ankh stayed by his side constantly, refusing to leave it, and he had grown accustomed to panicking if Eiji so much as coughed. Ankh’s harsh tone had mellowed out drastically over the years—too tired to be mad at Eiji, too scared to fight with him and never make up with him. Ankh truly treasured the time he had with the one he loved, truly forgetting he wasn’t human.

Late at night, at times like these, wrapped up in blankets in a makeshift nest, with Eiji lying back and Ankh lying against him, Eiji’s hand in his hair, they very rarely talked. They slept like this every night, basking in each other’s warmth until their breathing slowed and their heartbeats synced. Talking was always saved until the morning after one of them had crawled into the nest with a yawn.

So, when the question had come, Ankh stiffened in mild surprise. He tilted his head up to look at him, eyes narrowing just slightly. He noted how Eiji looked a little paler with each passing day, as if the sand from a metaphorical hourglass was slipping away—but, Ankh also noted, Eiji’s eyes never lost their shine, their brightness, their youth.

Ankh tilted his head back down, leaning into the fingers in his hair, and shut his eyes. After a moment or two, he replied: “Of course. You were as insufferable as ever.”

“Oh, oh, was I? I wasn’t that bad,” countered Eiji.

“You were an idiot,” Ankh said, without missing a beat. But a warm smile crossed his face as he recalled these fond memories, of them in the beginning, when things had been much, much simpler.

Although they had fought frequently, Eiji had always tried his hardest to help Ankh fit in. Ankh, stumbling along in the world like a newly hatched bird, had come to appreciate that. Eight hundred years ago, he never would had envisioned himself following another OOO, after what had happened. Yet, he happened upon Eiji Hino, the man who would make him feel human—the man who would grant him his ultimate desire of death, which had begun to desire so, so long ago.

Eiji had called him depressed, once. Ankh preferred to think of himself as determined.

But that was so long ago that he had trouble recalling those fuzzy senses that he could only feel through the detective. The only thing that he could recall in perfect clarity were the budding of emotions and feelings—of new desires that all focused on Eiji.

“Hey, Ankh,” Eiji said again, pulling Ankh out of his reverie. “You know I love you, right?”

The words were always said infrequently, though Eiji had been saying them a lot more often, as of late. As if he were trying to make up lost time.

Ankh nodded, snorting, and he said nothing.

“I love... Let’s see... I love the way you genuinely care for others,” Eiji started. He pulled his hand away from Ankh’s hair, pushing a finger of a loose fist up, counting. “And how you’re really, actually gentle.” Another finger. “And I love your love for ice pops, strange as it sounds. You’re a very simple man.” Another finger, and Ankh sighed. “And, also, the way you—”

Ankh turned his head again, turning onto his side just slightly, still trying to preserve the initial position. He had caught Eiji’s lips very suddenly, effectively quieting him. Eiji’s eyes had gone wide for a moment before sliding shut, and he dropped the fist and the counting hand, snaking one arm around Ankh’s waist.

“I love,” Ankh said, pulling away, only to nuzzle his face against Eiji’s cheek, “your warmth. Your pulse. The color of your hair and the flush of your face. I love your strength and your weaknesses and how you do buy me those ice pops that I think you’ve been stealing lately. I love how you’re alive.” The words caught in his throat on the last one, long enough for Eiji to butt in again, tightening his grip.

“I love that _you’re_ alive, too, Ankh.”

(Eiji didn’t question the silent tears that dampened the collar of the shirt he wore. He didn’t question the way Ankh couldn’t look at him, or the way Ankh seemed to hold him tighter than usual, protective.)

  


Ankh was, for all intents and purposes, human.

Three more years had passed. With the essence of Eiji in him, woven and mixed through the gold that held all nine (eight, if you don’t count the one Eiji carried with him at all times, still) of his cores together, he did not feel desire as a Greeed normally would. It was lessened a lot, and he felt full enough. He likened the amount of desire he had to a human’s level.

In the recent years, Ankh had started to go out more and more with Eiji, doing daily tasks that Eiji seemed too weak for now. Every day, Eiji’s strength seemed to fade, and although Ankh tried not to think about it, he grew scared. He wanted to be by Eiji’s side forever, for as long as possible. With each passing day, Ankh felt more and more guilt, and he cursed the gold holding him together.

They were on the train, when it happened.

Though the train wasn’t that crowded, all the spots on the benches had been taken. Ankh had glared at a younger man until he gave up his seat for Eiji (he had mellowed, sure, but only around Eiji), and Eiji had refused to take it at first, until Ankh pushed him down sitting. Eiji was still young, by human standards, yet he seemed years older.

The bell above them dinged, and Ankh nodded. “This is our stop, Eiji.”

It took Eiji a minute. Ankh noticed he was as white as a ghost, perhaps even paler, and a sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach even before Eiji stood up. Eiji smiled up at him—that characteristic, trademarked, warm, bubbly smile with dimples—and he mouthed that he loved him, and he took Ankh’s outstretched arm.

His legs nearly immediately gave way underneath him. Ankh acted quick, that awful feeling only settling deeper and heavier, with the hand letting go of Eiji’s; his arms shifted so that they caught the twisting Eiji before he hit the ground, one curling around him protectively while the other shook his shoulders gently.

“Eiji. Eiji! Wake up!” he yelled, terror making his voice crack. “Oi, Eiji!”

(Ankh didn’t notice he had started crying until he sat in the back of the ambulance, while he watched the paramedics work tirelessly.)

  


“It’s amazing he’s still alive.”

Ankh had come to hate those words. The doctors and nurses told him that every day, every single time they came to check in on Eiji, for the past four weeks. He had lashed out at the last doctor that had said them to him, yelling and screaming. He only quieted down when Eiji’s monitors went off, as if begging him to hush.

Ankh had also come to the decision he hated human emotions. Although he had wanted to forget, somewhere deep in his heart, he knew he couldn’t abandon his true nature. The emotions, however, nearly overwhelmed him, especially as of late. He felt them so intensely that he didn't want to feel human anymore.

When he was forced to leave the sleeping Eiji’s bedside at night, he yearned. When he arrived home, he cried. When he woke up (if he slept), he worried. When he saw Eiji’s peaceful face in the bed, he relaxed. This cycle repeated, several other emotions injecting themselves into his mind throughout each day, overloading him, setting him on edge, yelling at anyone that walked in or yelling at himself when he was alone at home.

Eiji wasn’t comatose, no. He still woke up every so often, and he’d speak to Ankh for about twenty or so minutes before his body shut down again. According to the doctors, every organ was slowly failing him, and there was nothing they could do. Breathing even expended too much energy, and he could never gain the same amount back.

Normally, when he came to visit Eiji, he did nothing but watch his chest rise and fall from a chair beside the bed. He listened to the soft beeps and murmurs of the machines, their reliable rhythm the only thing keeping him grounded in such a time. Today was no different, really. Occasionally, his eyes flicked between the monitors and Eiji’s face and Eiji’s chest. He reached out, taking Eiji’s hand in his, rubbing his fingers over the skin that seemed too cold for a living human, smooth like marble.

Eiji stirred, opening his eyes slowly, weakly gripping the hand back. Ankh looked up, then, and leaned forward, placing his other hand over Eiji’s own. He rose to his feet when Eiji’s face contorted in pain, beneath the face mask.

“Eiji,” he reassured, “I’m here.”

The face mask heated up with every breath, cooling down in between. Eiji’s eyes found Ankh’s, and although they were a little glossed over, pupils a little too dilated, Ankh knew that Eiji was awake, that Eiji saw him, that Eiji knew he was there. Ankh was certain that Eiji’s own gaze couldn’t even focus, but Eiji knew. Ankh knew, too.

“Ankh,” the man choked, and tears brimmed in his eyes. He brought a hand up to his face, pulling away the mask, taking a big and deep breath in once he was no longer supplied with the oxygen. “I… have something… for you.” With every breath Eiji took, he struggled harder and harder to get the words out.

Ankh nodded, leaning in closer, so Eiji wouldn’t have to strain himself speaking so loudly. His hands, wrapped protectively over Eiji’s still, trembled. He said nothing for a moment, until he realized Eiji wouldn’t continue on until he did. “What is it? Don’t strain yourself.”

“I hid it… from you for… so long.” Eiji smiled, dimples no longer as deep as they had been, due to how sickly he looked. “I’m sorry.”

“What…? What is it? Eiji?” urged Ankh.

“It’s under the… floorboards in Cous… Coussier,” answered Eiji, face momentarily twisting again. Ankh instinctively placed the back of one of his hands against Eiji’s cheek, which seemed to calm him. “The medal case.”

Ankh furrowed his brow in confusion. They hadn’t used the medal case for, well, years. They had never had a use for it, and in fact, Ankh thought it had been lost so many nights ago. He said nothing, waiting for Eiji to catch his breath and explain himself.

Instead, Eiji used his free hand to pull something out of his pocket. The red coin glinted in the too white light. Even in his hospital gown, Eiji had kept Ankh’s ninth medal on him, and Ankh briefly wondered if that was why Eiji hung on. Eiji turned the hand that held his over, so the palm faced upward, and placed the core medal into it. Fear clogged Ankh’s mind.

The medal, his own, felt too hot in his skin. A shiver blasted down his spine, and he looked between the disc to Eiji’s beautiful smile several times.

“Eiji… You—!”

“Thank you, Ankh…” Eiji exhaled. “I have to… say goodbye soon…” Tears that had long since been brewing behind the scenes finally fell, silent, in single strokes, one at a time, down his cheeks. “Don’t blame yourself, Ankh… Please…”

Ankh clutched the medal with one hand, while the other moved from Eiji’s cheek to his shoulder, where he squeezed gently. “Eiji, you can’t—what am I supposed to do without you?” he asked, voice raspy and hoarse. He hadn’t started crying yet, but all the symptoms were already settling in.

“Just…” Eiji still smiled, and yet the tears still fell. “... make a world… for both of us… alright?” He took another deep breath, and the corners of his mouth started to droop. “I… love you, Ankh.”

Ankh didn’t hear the sound of the machines. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything. His heart—he reminded himself bitterly he didn’t _have_ one—ceased to function, all the blood rushing from his head—just as all the light left Eiji’s eyes, and the smile fell once and for all.

He cried into Eiji’s chest, having to be pried away by the doctors and nurses.

(Chiyoko, still running the restaurant as faithful as ever, was in the middle of an evening party where a very disheveled Ankh burst in. He didn’t even spare her a second glance, only rushing up to grab the medal case with a scowl. Feeling a familiar tug at his medals, he couldn’t bring himself to open it.)

  


Ankh wasn’t sure how he had found out about the portal. He had felt all the medals converge all at once, relatively close to him. At first, his breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t move for a very long while, fearing the worst. Although, he supposed it couldn’t get any worse—forty years after Eiji had first worn OOO, and monsters still ran wild, hurting civilians and killing others.

Ankh, wracked with guilt, could never bring himself to leave the apartment, unless it was absolutely necessary.

However, on that day that he felt all his medals being pulled, he did leave. He arrived at the void and portal in no time at all, breathing heavily, having worked up a sweat. The man who had been transformed into a Kamen Rider—apparently, by the yells of the people around the portal—was nowhere to be found.

The longer he stared at the purple swirls in the sky, the more he felt Eiji. He realized it hadn’t been all the medals tugging every which way at his own. It was Eiji. The Eiji from the past. He jumped in without hesitation.

It had been years since he saw him. Ankh played it cool, simply smiling, and although he didn’t talk much, he was just glad to bask in the man’s presence. He saw first hand how Eiji grabbed for his medal in times of panic—but perhaps more striking was the way that Eiji was _alive_. He was alive and although he was as stupid as ever, he still saved the man, still saved everyone else, still saved _him_.

Ankh wanted to grab Eiji and pull him aside, steal the core from his pocket, explain to him that he shouldn’t try to bring Ankh back to life. Explain to him that it wouldn’t be worth it in the long run—Ankh wasn’t worth it in the long run, not compared to Eiji’s life being cut drastically short.

But he didn’t. He thought about all the times he cherished with Eiji after he had been revived. The gold holding the cracks of the medal together resonated with Eiji’s smile, and his heart (he had to have one at this point) sunk into his stomach.

Eiji yearned for something, and Ankh was a creature made to urge on desires. He couldn’t take that away from him.

After the battle, with Hina and Eiji watching as the portal began to disappear, Ankh grinned a very, very soft grin. He tilted his head, and he mouthed three words, and he transported himself back into his own time before the portal closed all the way.

(He visited Eiji’s grave the next day and asked him why he never told him about that happening. He corrected himself by saying it didn’t even matter, since Ankh got to spend so many years with him anyway.)

  


Ankh had grown accustomed to the ache in his medals whenever he was in the apartment—so much so that he barely even noticed it anymore. He just went about his daily life, and he tried to help that new Kamen Rider as much as he could now. Most of the people he had known back in the day were dead or gone, now.

He also grew accustomed to being alone.

When Hina had asked if she could come over for dinner (she’d make the food, she promised), Ankh was a little shocked. Even though he had looked the other away with a sneer tilting his lips, he had agreed. She, then, told him about her children, and how they would be joining them, too. It was too late to take back the date, though, so he had to go through with it. Hina insisted it be over at Ankh’s apartment, too, since she hadn’t been there in years, ever since Eiji had passed away.

She didn’t say that last part, though. She simply implied it.

Ankh was a messy person, though. Eiji had usually done the upkeep on the place, with Ankh barely helping out every now and then. He had severely neglected it these past few years, if only because he thought, _maybe if I keep it messy, he’ll clean it up_. The rational part of his mind called this wishful thinking.

Still, here he was, cleaning up the apartment. He left all of Eiji’s stuff, like his desk, in one place, not touching them at all—refusing to touch them and mess up the tranquil neatness of it all. He wasn’t sure if Eiji would have wanted him to not touch it, but he would’ve refused the request, anyway.

Wiping down a bookshelf, he had pressed too hard; the antique shelving wobbled in its place, and before he could move away, something flat smacked against his head, having fallen off from the very top shelf. The object bounced off of his head and landed on the floor with a striking clatter. It bounced a few more times before the clasp on it finally came undone, broken or otherwise, and with one final bounce, the object inside the case flew out.

The medal rolled for a few more feet before coming to a stop, right next to Eiji’s desk. Ankh stared for a moment, struck with some sort of terror. He had never opened the case in all these years, after Eiji had told him its hiding place, and so he hadn’t actually confirmed what had been inside it.

Very slowly, eyes wide, he crossed the room to Eiji’s desk. Crouching, Ankh reached out with a tentative hand, hesitating more than once, before he finally grabbed hold of the medal. Looking at it closer, most of it had been cracked, with a lot of gold filling the large gaps all up. It still called out to him, no matter what parts of it had been lost.

This medal made his tenth, and formally final, medal.

Eiji had found the pieces of the first medal of his that OOO had used and repaired that one, too.

With a surge of urgency, he called Hina to cancel, not paying attention to the disappointment in her voice. He left the phone off the hook, never taking his eyes away from the medal, and headed to the nest that he had not sat in since Eiji had last been here with him. After another bout of hesitation, he finally climbed into it.

This—all ten medals—was what Eiji wanted Ankh to have. He cursed at himself for neglecting Eiji’s final wish, but in truth, he knew that he couldn’t do it because he was scared. It had been so, so very long since he had dreamed of that dream. His desire to achieve that dream had been replaced with a different desire—to live, and to die—and so he hadn’t thought about it in a very long time.

But now, the reality stared himself in the face.

With a flash of light, he pressed the ruptured core into his chest.

(He dreamed.)

  


“Ankh.”

He opened his eyes, groggy and annoyed. He turned on his side, and the human only shoved a comforting hand in a group of his feathers on his neck, something that relaxed him immediately.

“Do you really not remember me?” said the human, as usual. He asked it every day, and King of Birds replied the same way each time.

“I do not know who you are.”

The human stroked one of his feathers, and the King of Birds no longer felt annoyed. The human knew where to touch him to calm him, where to make him feel happy again, where to make him laugh and where to make him sad. These emotions seemed foreign to him—yet somehow, right. He didn’t even know who this “Ankh” was, though he assumed it was someone the human had held close to him.

They nested in the sky, higher than anything else, and although the King of Birds had recalled that horrifying memory of the first human removing the medal and destroying him and his dignity, the King could not bring himself to turn away this human. He trusted this human to somehow not hurt him. He seemed much too innocent, much too full of love, and although he wasn’t a bird, the King loved him back, all the same.

“Hey, Ankh,” the human said later that night, when they were about to sleep again, after a day of long flying and dictating the kingdom of birds. Before the human could continue, the King opened his mouth.

“Eiji,” he had snapped, a little annoyed, not realizing his own choice of warning. But when he turned to look at the human, and when he saw the human had started crying, reaching out both of his hands, the King of Birds caught the smaller, fleshy ones in his own, and his annoyance dissipated.

“You remembered.”

(The King of Birds slept the easiest he had ever, holding the human protectively in his wings and keeping him close to his chest, for the first time.)

 

 


End file.
